Forces of Nature
by EquinoxCroll
Summary: In the midst of battle, and after that kiss, Ron knew he loved Hermione. He'd never said the words, but she knew. Didn't she?


In the midst of battle, fighting for their very existence, it should not have been easy to declare his love for her ... but Ron had. Of course, it wasn't the words. He hadn't actually said 'I love you, Hermione Jean Granger!' but when she kissed him, and when he responded with far more passion than he'd _eve_r kissed Lavender, Ron knew that he loved her. And she knew that.

Didn't she?

Ron stared at the wand in his hands, twirling it between his fingers. The problem was that it had been easy then. He'd reacted to her kiss, and, Merlin it had been amazing, but ... but ... he hadn't made the first move.

He felt her hand move into his, so he squeezed gently back. Hermione smiled wanly and then rested her head on his shoulder. Glancing down he could see tears glistening on her lashes and, suddenly ashamed, he dragged his thoughts away from love and back to death.

It was Colin Creevey's funeral. Harry sat two rows ahead with Ginny, both of whom were reading a eulogy to the boy who had died so young. Ron looked across and saw Dennis lead his father – a broken wreck of a man – to the front row. He stared at Dennis, wondering if Colin really had looked like that, or whether he was mixing the two boys up in his mind because he'd never paid much attention to Colin unless he was laughing at him. Hearing a stifled sob from Hermione, he cautiously placed his arm around her. She didn't shrug him off, but instead laid her head on his chest. A solitary tear ran down her cheek as Dennis got up to speak, and she fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief.

And Ron knew he should be feeling something for Colin. He knew he should be thinking of Dennis and his dad, but at this moment, all he could see, all he could feel was Hermione's pain as she said goodbye to another of the Fallen.

"You okay?" he muttered.

Hermione lifted her head at him and just gave him a look. There was no smile, it was an 'of course I'm not okay, Ron, I'm at a funeral!' type of look. She blew her nose and shifted her head away from him, sitting up to stare straight ahead. Despite the warmth of the day, Ron felt a chill course through him. He removed his arm from her shoulder and placed it in his lap then focused his eyes on Ginny who was standing up to speak. He noticed Harry squeezing his sister's hand. There was something in that caress, which spoke volumes about i_their/i_ relationship. Ginny and Harry were a couple again, a fiery, passionate couple living for the moment, desperate to make up for the months they'd been apart. Whereas Ron and Hermione were ...

What were they since that kiss? Friends? Friends that kissed sometimes? Not teenagers indulging in marathon snogging sessions – it was more than that. But still, they hadn't moved past the odd kiss, and occasional holding of hands. _Taking it slow_, Ron told himself, as he damped down the desire that leapt in his chest every time he thought about her kisses, and what would happen if they didn't pull back.

He wanted it to be right. He wanted it to be perfect ... for her.

As Ginny finished speaking, Ron heard Hermione sniffing. He stretched out his hand and took hers, giving it a guilty squeeze. He should be thinking about death, about Colin Creevy and the countless others that had died that night, but looking at Hermione as she bit her trembling lower lip, all Ron could think about was life and love.

Apparating back to The Burrow together after the service had finished, Hermione tucked her arm into Ron's as they landed at the bottom of the garden. It was quiet, and it seemed that they were the first back. Ron felt heartened by the contact, and his spirits lifted a touch when she didn't head straight for the house.

"You okay?" he asked again and then flushed. Stupid question – of course she wasn't okay. Why couldn't he keep his bloody mouth shut? Or say something worthwhile?

But Hermione was nodding. "Yes, I think I am, now," she said. "I always thought Colin's funeral would be the worst."

"Did you?" Ron queried. He wasn't sure he understood. Colin had been a great boy and as brave as anyone that day, but they'd never really known him.

As Hermione stopped and leant against the beech tree by the chicken coop, Ron waited for her to speak. "Because that could have been me. Muggleborn, with parents who had no idea what the war was all about." Her voice cracked. "You saw their dad today, utterly bereft and with no comprehension of what Colin had faced."

Ron stared at her, and then, as another tear started to fall down her cheek, he brushed it away tenderly with his thumb. She gazed up at him, and he found he was lost in her glistening eyes as they reached into his soul.

"I'm sorry I didn't realise ... about Colin, I mean," he started to say, and then pulled away from her. Sitting on the dry grass, he ran his hands through his hair. The sun was making its move westward now, but it was still warm and under this heat, wearing thick black robes, he felt he was wilting. *I didn't even know him very well."

Sighing, Hermione joined him on the grass. He held her in his arms, listening to her steady breaths. "He was rather irritating at school. Poor Colin, so excited about magic and so in awe of Harry." A sudden sob caught at her throat, and he could feel fresh tears falling from her cheeks and onto his. "He never had a chance, did he? No chance at life, and that last year must have been so awful for him. Living in hiding and unable to do the things he loved."

Ron said nothing but thought of the young boy, who could have stayed in hiding, and would have been alive except for that need to prove himself worthy of his hero.

"We need to live, don't we?" Hermione continued. "I'm not saying we won't miss them all, but sometimes it feels as if we're merely existing."

"I know what you mean," he muttered, kissing her softly on her brow.

She turned her face towards his, their noses touching, until she tilted her head and found his mouth with hers. Then her hand slipped to his chest, sliding under his robes. "Your heart is beating fast," she murmured, kissing his neck, her lips straying up to his ear.

"Er ... yeah," he replied, cursing himself for not being able to say anything profound at this point. But it wasn't his heart that was worrying him. Another part of his anatomy was forcing his thoughts into inappropriate imaginings. Merlin, didn't she realise the effect she was having on him? And today, of all days, after a bloody funeral.

"Hermione..." he protested, "I ... We ... er ..."

"What?" she whispered, her hand now sliding down to his waist.

"Do you know what you're doing to me?" he muttered, shamefaced.

"I hope so."

"Don't you think-" Her lips crushed his until he was breathless.

"I don't want to think," she replied. "I don't want this to come down to logic. I want to feel. I want to live. I want ... _you_." And pulling him back to her, she kissed him fiercely.

"But the others," he murmured. "They'll be back soon."

With a flick of her wand, Hermione began incanting the spells he hadn't heard for months, spells he thought he'd never have to use again, and certainly not for this reason.

"Salvio hexia ... Protego totalum ... Muffliato ..."

He wondered if it was wrong to feel so much life pounding through him on this particular day, but as Hermione moulded herself around him, Ron stopped wondering and began to just feel.

"I love you, Hermione," he murmured into her soft hair.

"I know," she replied as she wound her arms around his neck. "And I love you very, very much, Ron."


End file.
